


Unsent Letter

by unluckyduckie



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Night Watcher, Turtlecest, tcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unluckyduckie/pseuds/unluckyduckie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning Tcest, turtlecest, coarse language (thanks Raph), mentions of sex (although it is not explicitly described until later chapters) and buckets of general angst. Raph's thoughts and anger about Leo's time in South America. 2007 continuity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I didn't understand why you had to leave us, me. I still don't. If someone had told me a year, a month or even the day before ya told us? That you'd be walking out? They'd be lucky to come away missing a few teeth.

I remember that first hesitant night, some grimy roof top, some argument. Like two falling stars burning together, ya called us. An' I hit you, and when you didn't hit me back, I believed.

That last night before your training journey, I was still so angry I couldn't see strait. You came to me, I was jus' standing in the dark, to angry to even move. Ya touched my hand, you undid me with a word, a look. "Please." ya said.

That night, well even I have ta' admit it was somethin'. Everything had this extra sharpness because I knew I wouldn't have ya' again for so long. And after, when we were finally finished an dawn was pressin' up against the sky, we promised all those thing that I guess lovers do. You said even though we'd be apart, we'd be together. Forever. I believed you.

At first it was hard, those first three months I found my self sneakin' in to your room on the regular about once a week just ta' smell ya on the sheets. I used to run my fingers over the spines of your books just because ya' had touched um. I was careful then, didn't want ta' do it to much cuz your smell would fade.

Then it was harder, the next three months your letters got less frequent, more distant. I was in ya room three, four time a week. Sleepin' in your bed durin the day. I started hitting the rooftops with Casey at night. Just for some distraction. It was ok if my smell gradually started replacin' your own, if I picked somethin' up off your desk and didn't know exactly where it went back. You'd be home soon, arms around me an' puttin' everything back in its place, or so I believed.

The next three months when you stopped writhing all together. They were even harder. Worry was breakin' me apart, and so I did the only thing I knew how to do, I broke stuff. Faces mostly, but I also totaled a couple ah cars, bikes, store front windows, even went a few rounds with the sofa one night if anyones ever wonderin' why it looks so worn. Drove Don up a wall, Mr. Fix it, Doctor Donnie. But he couldn't fix me, and I think that got under his shell a little.

Casey and I were out almost every night now, and if Case wasn't around Nightwatcher rode solo. Most nights he came around though, he was my best friend and he was going to help me get through this last difficult stretch. He'd fill the void you'd left with a grin, or a beer or a punch to the shoulder or a good tip on which warehouse we could find some action. He didn't see that I'd already started to grow into the empty places you'd left, I didn't either. You'd be home soon and things would fall right back in ta place. It was what we believed.

The week before you were supposed to be home, I was half out of my shell with anticipation. Casey sensed ta extra swagger in my step, and gave me shit about it. Said we'd have to bash the skulls of a few extra punks b/c my ass would be too sore to ride the shell cycle next week.

I think I handled the first week after ya were supposed to come back pretty well considering. I was anxious, but the Jungles a long way from NYC, any number of things could of caused delays, hell not a lot of calendars in the rainforest maybe you had lost count. But you were on your way back to me. ya were almost by my side again I believed that.

The next few weeks kind of all blur together, I vibrated between giddy although gruffly express excitement at your impending return and bouts of dizzying terror that ya weren't coming back. That something terrible had happened to ya out there. At some point I can't pin down I started spending a lot more time in your room. Like all of it, I'd lock myself in there for hours, then days.

Some time in the second month, after a several day disappearance in to your room Mikey picked the lock. He had a grill cheese with tomatoes on it, called it a pizza sandwich. Got me ta eat it by crying, not those big crocodile tears of his, real ones. Mikey told me between sobs that you were fine, that I needed to stay strong for when you came back. I could see he was half trying to convince himself. I told him I know if you were dead. I believed it.

Three months in to your extended absence I started to feel the changes in my self. I still spent an amount of time in your room that can only be described as unhealthy. But my fear and grief were now punctuated with anger. Anger wound its way up and started filling the holes ya left in me. Mikey had now decided that one part time job wasn't enough. It was now his full time mission to keep me alive and functioning. I didn't make it easy on him. I think it was out of pure desperation to try something, anything to help me that made him reach out and kiss me that first time.

I took him right there in your bedroom, the last your scent still lingering on the sheets. The first time I may have screamed your name at the end. All the times after that, I rarely said anything at all. Mikey only once suggested we try doing it somewhere other than in your bed. One short sharp refusal from me and he dropped it. I think he thought of himself as a place holder, just something to hold me together until ya came back. I thought of him as a weapon, I learned his body, his likes and dislikes. I thought his pleasure would hurt you. I made him cum over and over again because I believed that.

By the time we came up on the six month mark I had fallen into a kind of routine. I was back out on the streets as Nightwatcher almost every night. Sometimes with Casey, but more often on my own. By day I'd sleep, occasionally fuck Mikey in your bed if he was around, or break something of yours if he wasn't. I tore the pages out of your copy of art of war one at a time. I took your favorite book and made it a calendar of my anger. Mikey would sneak back in and carefully smooth the pages and tape them back in.

It was easy for him to sneak into your room, with a roll of tape or tub of spackle to fix whatever I broke because I was spending less and less time in there. I was also spending less time with Mikey, which I felt a little bad about. But revenge sex only works if the person ya are trying to hurt knows or cares. You were out there dead or alive, but either way you weren't coming back. That's what I believed.

Strangely, I felt better. Better than I had since the day ya left. You were gone and whatever we had wasn't strong enough to bring ya back to me. But I was free of you, and the weight of our love now. Whatever happened from here was up to me. I poured myself into the role of Nightwatcher with more enthusiasm than ever. I felt like I had found my place, my purpose. Real danger and fights every night, Mikey's constant adoration didn't hurt either. With you gone he needed someone to look up to. It felt good that it was me even if he didn't know I was the Nightwatcher.

Rolling steadily towards the nine month mark, I was seeing less of Mikey. The occasional tumble on your bed on the most difficult days. The rare ones when I found myself back in your room, finger running down the now very battered spine of Art of War wondering why. It was also around that time when I had my first experiences with women. Adrenalin fueled trysts in dark alleys, usually after I had saved them from some jumped up purse snatcher. I was always careful to keep their hands busy, or face them away so they couldn't go for the mask. Few ever did anyway, it was Nightwatcher they wanted. I never found anything in those rough brick walls, or their soft pink skin that compared with you. But I believed it was enough for me.

At almost a year of your extended absence, two years total- I'm pretty content. I like being the Nightwatcher, putting all the anger you left me with, not to mention all the anger I already had to good use. Life's not perfect, but neither am I. We get by just fine without you.

Then you came back, and my world fell apart a second time. Fuck you, Leo.


	2. Message Undeliverable

You came back and you said nothing. You went up to your room which I had trashed and they had put back together for two years and ya smelled me and Mike on the sheets and you said nothing. Fuck it, what was there to say anyway? You'd have ta feel something to say something.

That was the first night I ever took him some place other than your room. He was hesitant at first, it confused him with you bein' back and all. But I had spent 6 months learning his body, so it wasn't too hard ta get him on his back against the hard concrete floor of the garage. It was rougher than he liked, but at the end I felt better, like I was empty and light.

I stopped messing around with women in dark alleys after ya got back. After that first night I never touched Mikey again. It was like that part part of me had been cut off, I didn't want him. I didn't want you either, I kept telling myself that till I almost believed it.

If I occasionally woke from dreams that gave the truth to that lie, sticky, churring, and still hard I didn't sweat it. My dreams were different now than they'd been when you were gone. Different than it was between us when we'd been together. The dreams were something darker than we'd ever shared, there was blood and pain tangled up in the their quickly fading pleasure.

My routine changed again. In the days with you and the team, slipping out late night to the roof tops. I went harder as Nightwatcher than ever before. Ya saying shit and ordering us around got ta me, ya not saying shit got ta me. So I got in ta it with the local criminal element. I got in to it hard, and it helped me think about something other than you.

But then ya found me up on the rooftop, I should've just kept running but ya started lecturing. Ya had all these words for some stranger you had never met, after saying nothing ta me. Suddenly I didn't want to run. I wanted to fight. I wanted to feel heat of our argument, after so long of not feeling much of anything at all. You drew me to ya, like a moth to a flame, blind and burning.

It was even better after ya got my mask off. Because that got ta ya. It bothered you that ya had somehow missed me bein' the Nightwatcher. That perfect cool facade began to crack. An obvious flaw in your supposedly flawless leadership. What we had didn't matter to ya, maybe it never had. But I could still scratch that surface. I couldn't make ya love me, but I could make you hurt.

Shell, what a fight. Ya hadn't been on vacation down in the jungle, you were quick and as finely honed as yer blades. But two years of fighting made men and gang bangers every night wasn't a vacation either so I was fast and sharp. I was also highly motivated. Sometimes a fight just comes down to wanting it more, and right then I couldn't think of anything I wanted more than to beat that smirk off yer face.

You had me backed up against the ledge, red neon and rain. But I pushed back, got your swords locked in my sais. Straining against each other was strangely familiar from a time when this might of led to softer things. Years of sparring, and rough housing that became fevered kisses, burning embraces, nights of passion that left me bruised and wanting more. It was those memories tumbling around in my head that drew a final growl from me. That pushed me to push you harder.

There was something in yer eyes as we circled, regret maybe. For a second I could see that I had forced ya to think of us, ta really think. You looked down for a moment arms still locked and strong against mine. But when ya looked back up I saw that flicker fade, and something cooler slid back in ta place. That did it, I twisted my sai's out with everything I had, two years of pain and longing compressed in one sharp movement.

Yer katanas broke, and I was on ya. Kicking ya down and pinning you with a knee on your chest. Weight supported on the sai I had just drove in ta the roof next your head. Second hand poised for to strike. Pinning you down on a rooftop in the rain, the hot glow of the neon, us both breathing hard, your face inches from mine. Echos of the past all around us now.

And I knew you saw me then, saw my pain, saw my bitterness at your betrayal. There was sympathy on your face, compassion I didn't want or need. I got off you, fast but not fast enough. I was already exposed and I ran for the second time that night. Even though there was nowhere to run anymore. Even though I'd never be able to run fast enough to get away from how I felt.

Yer scream split the night air. And I turned, already too late.

The heart I didn't think I had any more broke at the thought of losing you again.


	3. Return To Sender

I thought I knew pain in your absence. It is nothing compared to the pain of having ya here besides me. Your scent fills the lair once again. It's lingering tendrils wafting over me and drawing the dull ache of desire taunt between my legs. The cold burn of the shower every morning helps. I stand shivering in the icy water and I feel something other than the ghost of your touch.

A month ago, back we went up against the stone generals, there was a moment in the elation of our victory that I felt that spark from long ago. The fawning adoration on ya face when I pulled you from the cage was more than I could bear. I turned away willing the wall of my anger to rise up between us again. But instead I was swept by an unbearable desire to hold you, to reassure myself that you were whole and with us again. I swear I envied the stone of our enemies hearts.

In the aftermath things at home have settled into a routine. I try and put a brave face on it, knowing what my anger has wrought. Our family is complete again it should be enough, but it isn't.

I want to free myself from the shadows of the tenderness we once shared. Ya taught me by yer absence and presence in turns that hope is the cruelest master. Still I say nothing, patrolling every night, eating meals in silence, trying to hold my shit together for fear of fracturing our brittle family. I avoid ya as much as my short leash will allow.

I will fight for you, and I would die for you. If you ordered it, I would march against all of our enemies at once, face the great waves of steel and anger, with my back against the wall and my death in their eyes. These days I fear living more.

There is a softness in your gaze some nights that stirs things in me. Other times you get this look in your eyes, and I know you are with us and yet not with us. Standing besides me in the flesh you are back in the jungle. Tracing the stars of the southern hemisphere, a hundred thousand miles away in your mind. And all this time under your curious glances and distant sighs I am burning deep in my core, fire a constant threat to our once again quiet lives. I don't want these feelings anymore.

It's a slow night, and ya find me lifting weights in the dojo, ya come in silent as a shadow. I don't even notice you're there until one of your strong hands is on my shoulder turning me towards you. The familiar calluses sear my skin. I keep my head down trying to look anywhere but at you.

"Raph, we need to talk." Your voice is firm.

"Please." I hate the fragility of my voice. My face is hot and my shell suddenly feels to tight across my chest.

"Please what Raph?" you continue unyielding.

"Please don't make me love you again." my voice shakes, my vision blurs with unshed tears. I hate you seeing me like this. But I hate that you can still make me feel like this even more.

"Oh, Raphael" your hand slides from my shoulder around to my shell pulling me against you. Your other hand lifts, coming to cradle the back of my head. I can't decide if I want to fall into your arms or if I want to sucker punch you.

You smell amazing, feel even better against me than I remember. It takes everything I have to stand still, hands clenched at my sides- so tight I can feel my nails cutting half moons into the thick skin of my palms. Your body rocks gently against mine, for a moment my heart slips its coffin. I bite my tongue desperate to stifle the sob that hitches my throat. The sharp coppery taste of blood fills my mouth, and very carefully I take a steadying breath.

After a minute you draw back, seeming puzzled by my lack of response. You aren't used to me holding out on you, especially not emotionally.

Your eyes widen suddenly, rare anger flashing across your face. "Is it Mikey?" you hiss the words barely a whisper. I let the silence drag on, relishing the sudden warmth of my answering anger. It feels good to be angry again, a familiar shield around my battered heart.

Your face falters as I glare back at you. "Raph, just tell me. when I came home I could s-smell you both tha-that you had been t-together in my room."

I keep my mouth clamped shut, and through narrowed eyes I watch you fall apart. "I asked him." you whisper "he s-said t-that you had sex." your visibly shaking now and I feel a feral grin part my lips. "b-but h-he said you weren't together."

I smile wickedly as I reply "Yeah, I fucked Mikey." my voice is raising to match my temper "Mikey's a sweet fucking lay." your responding wince is better than if I had sucker punched ya. "We're not together, so your totally welcome to hit that." you look stricken as I roll on, shouting full out now. "Shit Leo, you could pick up some pointers." I'm already heading for the door feeling better than I have in a month "He's better than you!" I roar as I yank the door open.

I nearly froze as I catch sight of Mike and Don in the living room. Mikey's liquid eyes are huge and as round as dinner plates. Donnie looks furious. Well, fuck 'um. I've got momentum now and the comfortable shield of my rage. I barrel towards the lair exit.

"Wait, Raphael!" I look over my shoulder, to see you framed in the light spilling from the dojo. Seeing the dark stain of real tears on your mask almost undoes me. I almost run back to wrap you my arms around you, almost throw myself at your feet just to be close to you again, almost, almost. 

Instead I shout back "You're to fucking late Leo!" and then I'm running down dark tunnels.


	4. Awaiting your reply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this mixed up mess, check out my OT4 story Underwater.

I was running flat out, ragged tails of my mask streaking out behind me as I bolted in to the catacombs of tunnels surrounding the lair. 

I run blind until I'm sure you're not following me, skidding to a stop. Slowly I sink to my knees, one hand trialling listless down the side of the tunnel. 

Yer cold burning eyes have ignited a spark of unwanted desire thats eating me up from the inside like cancer. Dick painfully hard beneath my shell, even as tears streaked down my face. 

"Fuck" I shouted with bitter vehemence and slam my fist into a damp concrete wall. The sting in my hand dose nothing to dull the throbbing of ache of my cock.

Wracked by a shuddering sob, I drop down into my calloused palm. Eyes sliding shut as I tighten my grip reflexively. 

My thoughts skip around, tangled together. As I begin to stroke the needy flesh. The soft pink flesh of anonymous women, Mikey's supple sea green body, memories of you long buried resurfacing despite my best efforts to stop them. My breath comes in ragged gasps, stifled moans punctuated by half swallowed churrs. Pumping faster, blurred hand slick with precum. It's been so long since I'd allowed my self this. A tight knot of tension at the base of my cock. Images come faster now, flicking back and forth in a dizzying montage. The women fall away first, then Mikey. Until there is only you, us before, churring and laughing in the dark, you when you first came home sharp eyes shining out from the shadows of a tattered cloak. The feel of your body close to mine moments ago, fragments of my dark dreams, you in glittering chains, the sharp sting of the lash. Us as teenagers pushing and pulling each other like magnets, not understanding our own compulsions. A life time of memories and fantasies spliced together like a bad movie. Cutting faster and faster as buck against my hand, losing rhythm and at last thought. With the hot blank sizzle of melting celluloid I cum. 

"Finished?" comes a clipped voice from the darkness. 

"Don?" I'm slow, strung out in a post orgasmic headspace. Cock still out, semi hard in my hand. "what the fu--" I manage before my head snaps back jaw aching with the impact of his kick. 

I roll out of it, taking half a second to tuck my self in as I get to my feet. But Don's waiting on me, ready and in stance but not making a move yet. Waiting for me to be ready. I keep my form lose, easy to shift between styles, from traditional techniques to brawling. 

This wasn't the fight I was looking for, the one I was expecting. But I find my self oddly grateful. Hitting anyone's a welcome change from the shit in my head. 

Don closes fast, his foot work flawless even under two years of rust. Leo's been trying to shove the team back together, but I was the only one fighting everyday. So it's easy for me to catch Don's first strike, and come back with a counter. 

"You think you're the only one in this family?" Donnie's got a mean tongue when he's mad. 

"Fucks, yer problem?" I fake left, keeping his hands busy and catch him with a wide right. The force spins him away, and he ducks low as he turns with it to avoid a follow up blow. 

"You, you selfish son of a bitch." he hisses springing up out of his crouch. 

Don's got a lot of momentum and even though I block, his jump kick is hard enough to rock me back. He tries to stay tight to me, but I shake him off. He's too used to having the reach of his bo. But he's left it strapped to his back, probably because I left my sai on the rack in the dojo. Even with out his weapons any of my brothers is ten times the work out any purple dragon I can find top side would be. 

Although your the only one that can really take me bare handed. The blade of Dons foot connects jarringly with my knee. Price of getting distracted in a fight. I jump back, shaking it off. We trade a couple of taps, neither of us getting a solid hit in. I'm trying ta close that door in my head again. It's no good, maybe the locks busted. 

"What crawled up yer shell?" I ask hopping to keep Don as off balance and distracted as I am.

I can see the gears turning, and I press in with a concussive left. Wound up now, I follow with a sharp uppercut, splitting his lip on his teeth. While he's reeling I launch a sharp elbow in to his mid section. His plastron partly shields the blow, but he's still winded, going down on one knee. 

I dance back keeping my hands up. I could go in for finish, but instead I draw it out. I haven't felt this good, this awake in weeks. 

Don's look is murderous as he gets back up. Head down and eyes burning. He doesn't even get in to stance just walks towards me, saying "You just had to take everything Raph." his voice is sharp, careful not to lisp over his cut lip. He closes in, hands still at his sides. "And even when you had everything, it still wasn't enough for you." There's strain in his crisp pronunciation now. Don's close enough I can see the fine tremble running up his arms. 

My smile is half snarl as I spit out "Whats a matter Donnie ya, jealous?"

"Yes!" he roars and I am so taken back by his frank admission that when he barrels into me I go down like a sack of potatoes.

He's screaming an incoherent string of obscenities that shifts between languages as his fists rain like hammers against my defensive fore arms and chest. I don't think I've ever seen our gentle genius so worked up. The English and Japanese I can kind of follow, not that it makes much sense. Something about me being an asshole. I wonder if that's German or Russian he's yelling in now, as I keep my hands up protecting my head. 

I don't know what he's saying, but I understand rage, and figure it won't be long now before Donnie winds himself out. The punches taper off, and I ease my battered arms apart slightly. "Damn it!" he pants "You just give him a look and Mikey spreads his legs for you. Then when your done you just throw him away." 

"Wait, this is about Mikey?" I ask, and immediately regret it as the fire behind his eyes turns back on. His knuckles connect strait on with my eye ridge, I don't even bother to block. "HE" a right cross explodes against my cheek " DESERVES" his shovel hook snaps my face against the concrete, "BETTER" his final backhand turns my head towards him again. 

He sits there, straddling my waist and breathing hard. His hands are shaking. I turn my head to the side and spit blood before speaking. "Yer right." I say softly. 

"What?" he asks dazedly. 

Very slowly, I take my hands and lay them over his. "You are right" I'm a little firmer this time. 

His eyes are too shiny and his voice trembles as he asks "So are you going to take better c-care of him now?"

"No" I say as I sit up, sliding Don into my lap. "You are." 

"But I" he's trembling hard now "And he's" shaking all over "I don't" Don's voice tiny and soft. "know how." I wind my arms around him, firm over his carapace. I feel the hot splash of tears on my shoulder. Donatello collapses forward with a wracking sob. 

"Yer gonna be fine." I soothe. I feel like an idiot and an asshole for not seeing this. For getting so wrapped up in my shit with Leo that I missed the damage I was doing to our most giving brother. I grab his shoulders and pull him back, dropping my head so I can look in to his eyes. "Hey" I call to get him to look up. "Come on, if anyone can fix things it's you." 

I give his arm a hard squeeze and we get up.

Limping back towards the lair, he fusses at me. "Are you sure you don't want me to tape that up for you?" he asks for what feels like the hundredth time about a cut on my forehead. We're finally rounding the last tunnel. "Nah, I've got this. It's minor and you know it's minor." 

Don's hands flutter nervously "I know, but I feel bad." 

I roll my eyes, is this really the guy who just beat me up. "I'm fine Donnie, I promise. I've walked away from worse before." 

I hop the turnstile, in an inexplicably good mood. Then come up short as I see Leo sitting in the living room. He stare goes a little wide as he takes in my battered form. 

Donnie oblivious continues " I'm really sorry I hit you Raphie." Leo's eyes go even wider as he hears this.

I sigh "Enough already. I got this, you go do you." I give the purple banded turtle a little shove. And stalk across the living room towards the kitchen. Leo raises an eye ridge at me. So I flip him off. 

I'm surprised to find I'm smiling as I do it. Leo's eyes light up a little, and it pisses me off that it makes me feel warm inside when the do. 

Pisses me off, but not so much that I'm not still smiling while I rummage around the kitchen cabinets for the first aide kit. 

Of corse when I turn around he's got the freezer door open, pulling out trays of ice. 

He looks like he's got questions for me, but he's staying silent so far. He cracks the trays and puts them in a plastic bag. I've got questions for him too. But I'm not ready to talk yet. 

When he hands me the bag his fingers brush my wrist, lingering for just a second.


	5. Unsigned

A few weeks have past since the bruises from my encounter with Don have faded. I get in from a not too late night at Casey's, to find him and Mikey all wrapped up in each other on the couch. They are watching some movie, flickering light playing across their contented faces, just barely glimpsed from this angle. Mike's head rests on Don's shoulder, his round cheek folding perfectly into the hallow above Don's plastron. Like they were made to fit that way. So seamlessly do they blend, that in almost hurts me to watch them.

Mikey tilts his head up to mumble some question to Don, and Donatello smiles before shushing him. The smile lingers around the edges of his mouth even after they have turned their attention back to the screen. You are on the couch with them, faced away from me. It's amazing to how strait you hold your back, even while sitting. I'm struck by the divide between you and our bothers. The foot and a half of open air from the curving side of your shell and the tangle of their limbs could contain oceans.

I head for the worn recliner father favors over wedging myself into the small space on the couch. Mike and Don are deliriously happy, and I'm happy for them. But it's the kind of happy that's hard to look upon, like seeing the sun after being stuck in the sewers for a long time.

Mikey and Donnie chorus their greetings as I flop down, from you I get a flickering ghost of a smile as you incline your head towards me. Still, some fraction of tension eases from your shoulders.

Donnie's hand slides absently up and down the length of Mikey's arm, and he settles more firmly against him. I wonder if Don is still nervous of me around Mike. But I know, even if Don doesn't quite believe it yet, nothing I do could come between them.

Sinking deeper into the battered cushions, I try and pull away into my own sphere. I had the privilege of being Mike's first, and even though I fucked that up spectacularly I don't regret my time with him, only how I handled it. I'm a doing my best to ignore all the nuzzling and cooing from Mike and Dons end of the couch. But it's hard. The primal magnetic pull of your body, has become so constant it is barely felt, is stronger here in the dark.

Observing you closely as I am compelled to do, no matter how fervently I wish I could stop. And viewing you more clearly then in the past, as the rough tide of my anger draws back. I can see that you are not the same Leonardo who left me. It's hard to define. Some particular cool sweetness, has left your voice, replaced now by an icier flow. This and a thousand other fragmentary facets flicker between us, under the silent gazes that pass between us. At times, resentful, sometimes longing, and more recently gently sardonic. Acknowledging with equal parts humor and tenderness what lay between us. Before, I probably would of blown my top, and been over all this by now. But just as you left some measure of your youth scattered behind you on the jungle floor- I am not the same Raphael, you left behind you.

Donnie and Mikey have given up on the movie. Instead they are exploring each others mouths, tentatively at first, but with mounting eagerness. My stomach twists at their small sounds. I feel a coolness in my clenched palms. Like the bite of a very sharp blade, cold before the sting. Trying to find someplace else to look I accidentally catch your eye. For a moment the mask slips, focused desire flashing in their sable depths that makes my head spin. My heart hammers against my plastron. I feel myself standing and moving towards you, before I've given it conscious thought. I catch myself mid stride and stop awkwardly. Your face is shuttered once again, and you quirk an eye ridge at me.

Mike and Donnie pause long enough to look up as I loom over them, face burning.

"I'm going to grab a shower. You crazy kids don't stay up to late." Covering my discomfort with gruff affection.

I blast out of there like my tail is on fire and my shell is catching. I get upstairs and head strait for the bathroom. A locked door between us seems like a good plan. Once I'm safely in the tiled confines of the large shower area, I've got my dick in hand as soon as the water is warm. I brace a forearm against the wall, letting stream beat against my shell and neck as I rest my head on my arm. I keep my grip tight, and my stroke fast hoping to get this out of the way quickly. After the incident in the dojo and the fight with Donnie I've accepted it as a necessity of being trapped in the confines of the lair with you. I try and blank my mind and lose myself in the physical sensations. But you've got a way of creeping in to the edges of my thoughts in unwelcome threads of memory and flashes of fantasy. I lose myself in the act, letting it roll me panting and moaning towards the edge of relief. 

A leaf green hand is pushing aside my own, encasing my member in a stroke so precisely perfect, it could only be yours. Breathless with pleasure at the sensation, it takes me a moment to realize this isn't just some especially vivid new product of my infatuation. I hunch forward slightly and you lean with me following my motion. As I spin, elbow sharp and upturned I catch you squarely in the jaw.

You stumble back, slipping on the wet tile, falling right on your ass with enough momentum to slide slightly. Looking shocked and sputtering in the oncoming shower spray. If lust and rage weren't so desperately crowding my head I might have laughed. Perhaps something in my face gave it away because you were up in a movement so fast it was difficult to follow. Your brown eyes jet black with fury as you pushed me roughly back against the tiled wall.

"You want me" 

From my mouth the statement would of sounded bragging. But it was issued in the cool analytical tone I had heard so often on the battle field. Any denial of so obvious a fact would have been petty. Instead I relaxed against the tiles at my back, reaching and easily finding the steadying warmth of my anger. And with a patients finding and losing you again and again had taught me I wait for my opportunity to strike.

There is a slight upturn to your lips as you get in close. Even with the water cascading over us I can smell you. It makes me feel faintly dizzy as all of my remaining blood seems to rush south toward my already straining erection.

"I heard you" You gesture toward the far wall. Silence was a tool I hadn't really mastered until well after your return, when keeping my mouth shut was the only way to spare the tender freshly reformed bonds of family. But I hold my tongue now, in part because I'm not sure if my response will be a caustic retort or a wanton moan. Your eyes flash with challenge as you lean in again, licking beads of water from my shoulder. I hold your gaze as long as I'm able, the intensity burning into the core of my resolve. I lose that struggle as your teeth brush against my clavicle, rocking my head back and drawing my eyes shut. I hiss around an on coming churr, not wanting to give you the satisfaction. But I know I'm slipping, as you trail kisses down the sensitive bridge between the plates of my plastron.

You sink down before me, and the sight of you inches from my cock is so erotic, I'm worried that I might lose it before anything else happens between us. I reach for the tatters of my rage and the moment slides back. The warmth of my anger untying the knots you have put in my belly. I'm gathering my self to push you back when your tongue flicks out to lave the precum from my tip. It takes everything I have to keep my hands on the flat on the wall and not cradling your head.

I don't think I've ever wanted anything so badly. When we were together all those years ago it had been urgent, but easy. My needs are some how keener for knowing this could be the last time. "Leo" the walls echo your name back to me. I know it's wrong to give in to this. Dangerous, but it's the edge of real danger that makes me feel awake in a way I haven't in weeks. Your lips part, pulling me in to a tight warmth that is even slicker and hotter than the water that flows over us. One hand staying on my hip, you move the other to my shaft, working me with tongue and teeth and finger tips in tandem. I feel the pressure building, but fight back even as I hear my self moaning your name over and over. 

Your clever fingers find my tail, stroking it like you are reading a map of my body behind your closed eyelids. You take me deep, smoothly only the convulsions of your throat giving away the strain of swallowing my length. 

Too soon, I'm cumming.

Panting in the aftermath, only your steadying hands on my hips keep me upright. I wait for the stars to clear from my eyes, before risking looking down. By the time my vision clears, I'm cursing my weakness and loathing myself for giving you anything other than a swift kick in the ass. You're looking up at me with smug satisfaction tinged by relief. I try to swallow past the lump in my throat.

Finally I manage "They make door locks for a reason."

It's hard to scowl when your legs are so weak from orgasm that you can barely stand, but I make a good go of it. You kneeling before me water tracing your contours is like something out of a dream. 

Your thumbs are rubbing small circles on my sides. "I heard you calling my name."

All the nights I cried out for you when I was alone flash through my head and suddenly I have the strength to stand on my own just fine. "Ya got me, Leo, I like to fuck." my voice sounds like glass breaking. "Mikey doesn't seem appropriate anymore, and I never bothered to learn any of the women's names."

You cover the surprise on your face, but not fast enough. It's not often I get the drop on you. I'm angry enough to rub it in.

"Nightwatcher was a fucking hero. And like I told you, I like to fuck."

It's funny, you never seemed particularly jealous before the jungle. But before the jungle you didn't have anyone to be jealous of. You get in close, and your anger is flipping switches in my body I didn't know I had. My cock throbs, uncomfortable and eager at the same time, still sensitive from my recent release. 

"So stubborn Raphael." You breath against my ear slit. Your fingers find one of my hands, intertwining. "But whoever you've been with can't compare to what we have."

"What we had." I correct swiftly. 

You shake your head and pull my hand up against your plastron, where I can feel the dull steady thump of your heart. "You belong to me, in the same irrevocable way I belong to you."

You drop my hand, and step back slightly. "It took me some time to understand it." You caress my cheek with a calloused palm, and I resist leaning into the touch. "I haven't been with anyone else. And I never will be."

You turn and walk to the door before pausing to look back. "I wait for you or eternity." You are out the door before I can react.


	6. Post Script

It takes a few days to find the right moment but I finally catch Mikey making lunch alone. I lean against the counter top, trying to look casual while feeling anything but. 

"Hey Mikey, ya gotta second?" 

He turns, dusting his hands off on a dish towel. There is a flicker shadow across his eyes before a smile warms his face. That shadow is why I'm here. 

"I wanted...I wanted to say I'm sorry." I start out awkwardly. I never got the hang of apologizing even though with my temper I have to do it fairly regularly. "I didn't treat ya right, and you deserve better." Don's words in my mouth, but no less true for it.

Mikey hops up to sit on the counter next to where I'm leaning."Look dude, we never talked about it, but I knew getting in what kind of baggage you were carrying." He fidgets with his hands before continuing. "I'm not sorry you spent that kind of time with me. It was like hard, for a lot of reasons. I was scared we were going to lose you for real. But inspite of like everything, up to and including what an incredible ass you can be, I'm glad I got a little glimpse of what might of been."

"Might have been?" I echo dumbly

Mikey rolls his eyes before continuing "If Leo haven't gotten to you first." Sighing dramatically he lays a hand across my carapace. "You're slow even for a turtle dude, ten years of tugging on your mask tails and you think you would of noticed something." 

"Mikey..." I'm totally taken back by his admission.

I can't see the look on my face, but whatever it is it cracks Mike up. His laughter is so infectious, and it feels so good to laugh with him again that we keep going until I'm gasping for breath, half collapsed on the counter over top of him.

Mikey sobers, tugging me up, so that I'm standing facing him. Things flash in his blue eyes to fast to try and read. "Your loyal." He says finally. "Like stupid loyal, once Leo got to you, that was it." Mike leans in and rests his forehead against mine. "I'm not sorry." He says. 

His lips brush against mine, chase and lingering with a tenderness I never noticed before. I grip him, hands taking in his solid warmth for what I know will be the last time. We pull back slowly, letting the parting draw out. For a moment I am able to see the light amber of my irises reflected in his blue eyes. It seems like a whole world of what might have been is shimmering there. Slowly sliding away as I do. 

My voice is soft when I manage to find it. "Don's a great guy."

Mikey smiles up at me with unrestrained happiness "Yeah, he is."

I'm not one for looking back, but I glance over my shoulder on my way out, seeing Mike framed by the doorway, warm light of the kitchen somehow warmer with him in it. I want to fix the moment in my mind.

I'm so caught up in my own thoughts, I don't even stop when I spot a flicker of green retreating amongst the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading Unsent Letter. There may eventually be a sequel from Leo's POV. For now I'm focusing on finishing my OT4 story Underwater.


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